The puny children in the school

I am a dork who is inherently clumsy (A big shout-out to my mom), so whenever I am drinking water from a bottle it will spill all over my clothes and hair, whenever I am walking people either get reminded of happy feet or a rush of fear comes across their face of being crashed over, In fact there are many vessels in the kitchen that I have broken just by staring at them. So when someone asks me to catch anything, I go like this:

Organically you can understand the paranoia and dread I had during the P.T (Physical Training) classes during my school days. If math teachers loathed my existence, you should know how much the P.T teachers wanted to emit laser beam rays and burn me into ashes. pfft. As any regular kid, I was happy to have extra curricular activities in a day, but looking at the P.T class in the time-table gave me the chills and twitch along with the “dun dun dunnn” background and this exact facial expression.

The class would start off with the most ridiculous discrimination of standing in line according to your height. And since I am, well, me, I would always end up being the first five in the line. We were these minutest, niggling of the human being that sometimes when we run, people think we are walking and when we throw a ball to our best of ability, people thing we are just teasing. Basically we were representing the Chihuahua of the dog community. And like the Chihuahuas, during the entire school life all the short girls would fight amongst themselves to see who is taller than whom, of course the tall girls being the judge of it. Then we will stand in that particular humiliating order in line under the scorching sun for our teacher to come. Then we would be asked to warm up by running through the entire radius of the ground,  now that is when imagination goes wild amongst everyone and we start to make  sounds like ‘chu chu’ and ‘pac, pac’, Ah children!! After that painful ordeal, we stand in the same position once again with the teacher now asking us to start counting, all the even numbers will be on one team and the odd ones in the other. You know the drill. Then comes the worst part, the selection of first five girls to play against the other team’s five girls. I will never EVER be picked by anyone, no matter which team I was in.

God was kind enough to let me have company in this misery and around four to five of us will always end up being left out. And the feather on the hat is the fact that these four to five of them would always be the exact same people. SO when we know this is going to happen and in order to make sure we make a mark in the history of sports with our presence too, we go up to the P.T teacher, who would be busy observing the others playing now.
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“Miss?” we say.
“WHAT?” she bellows.
“Miss, can we play some badminton?” we ask.
She would look at all of us from head to toe in total aversion, like a trash of rotten meat has been stuck in her nostrils for a long time and give us a nod with the hand to go ahead.

This is the time when we truly and incorrigibly outshine the others, all of us, would start our journey from the ground to the store-room where the sports materials are kept. I, along with my friend would always end up picking the badminton rackets and shuttlecock where as few others takes skipping rope. On the way back, we would try to flaunt our rackets to our fellow batch mates who are now sitting in their respective classes, feeling pretty jealous about us. If the opportunity permits we sometimes decide to wave at them and even swing the racket from one hand to another. By the time we reach back to the ground there is hardly any time left for us to play, but we try to indulge in an act, where we try to make sure that the teacher sees us contributing to physical training. That is when we start making absurd sounds and a lot of “wow, that was awesome” remarks to get her attention, eventually failing and leading that to a ring of bell for the end of class.

One day I decided to muster up my courage and went and spoke to one of the usual team leaders of a team and asked her to put me in her team, which she reluctantly did. Okay I bribed her. The day I decided to play in a “real” game was the day, the teacher decided to teach us, Kabaddi, an exotic game. Now, in a chaotic environment, I either go blank or I faint. The rules of the game were so complicated and everyone started shouting and discussing that I completely blanked out. When the whistle went off, all I remember was someone smart from the opponent team touching me to get up and without any knowledge of what was happening to my body, I made a foul and was eliminated. The repulsed faces from my team-mates and teacher along with the smirk on the opponent team was something I couldn’t quite lavishly take in.
But I do remember the next week after this particular incident I played some awesome badminton. Peace out. 🙂